In Fire And Flood
by TheVelvetDusk
Summary: "Sometimes I think this is when I'm actually dreaming...because there's no way that you're still here after everything that's happened. You're too good to be true." Their love is the beacon that calls them back to shore. Two-part fic dealing with the aftermath of some S5/S6 plots. Title inspired by Coldplay's "Til Kingdom Come." {Canon through Season 5, tentatively set as post-6A}
1. Chapter 1

_a/n :: hello! I own not an inch of PLL-ness._

**_IMPORTANT _**_\- - slight trigger warning on this one, friends. There's nothing graphic or over-the-top about it (at least that I can identify), but there are some mild allusions to abuse of the physical/sexual nature, and I never want to hurt a reader with something like that. Please message me if you want more details before reading, or if you think I need to up the disclaimer with something stronger. Hopefully it won't be a problem for anyone, but that isn't something I'd want to take a chance on. Thanks!_

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"Damn it."

He stopped abruptly, guilt and devastation mingling into one horrendous knot of self-loathing. She sat only a few yards away, absolutely breathtaking in a navy and white sundress, her shoulders squared in determination against the rapidly cooling twilight. Looking at her was like looking at a glittering mirage. She was too good to be true, and he...well, he'd done the unthinkable.

It wasn't like him to lose track of her this way. From the second he'd first experienced the real Spencer Hastings - golden brown eyes, a radiant laugh, the sharpest of intellects, an impetuous will, and an extraordinarily beautiful heart - she'd been permanently branded into his memory. The effect was compounded with time, not just because he loved her more and more with each passing second, but also because of the constant whirlpool of danger and torment that followed her so closely, the resounding calamity that was trapped within her shadow. Even now, with those disastrous days behind them at last, it was still the undeniable truth; she was so deeply embedded into the fabric of his mind that he never had a chance to be forgetful, not even for something as trivial or commonplace as a promised dinner date. On a normal day, he would have spent each insufferable hour of his long shift in fidgety anticipation for this very moment.

Sadly, this had been anything but a normal day.

He swallowed another round of curse words and shuffled forward with reluctance shrouding his every step. As much as he loved her - and as much as she deserved a massive apology - the thought of being near her right now was practically intolerable. His head was jumbled with a consuming darkness that had the power to drag him right over the edge. The last thing he wanted to do was to drag her with him.

If she was surprised to finally see him approaching after so much time had passed, she didn't let on. Her gaze was unreadable and her posture remained ramrod straight.

"I'm sorr—"

A pale, slender hand rose to cut him off. "Are you okay? Did something happen to you tonight?"

"I'm fine," he spoke quickly in what could best be described as a half-truth. "I should have called you, Spencer. I would have, it's just…we were short on guys and I…"

His voice tapered off and his Adam's apple bobbed with repressed emotion. He could see it again, the pain on their innocent faces, their marred skin and lifeless eyes, all of it coming back to him in a haunting replay.

"Toby?" She was standing before him now, her fingers cautiously drifting along his sleeve.

He sucked in a rickety breath, willing his precarious temperament into submission. "I'm sorry for making you wait. There's no good excuse. I should have remembered to call and I didn't."

Her glossy hair swished around her as she dismissed his apology with an immediate flick of her head. "It's okay. I figured that it was something beyond your control. I knew you wouldn't purposely stand me up."

Toby eyed her warily, finding it much too hard to believe that she wasn't more rattled by his negligence. "But, Spence…after everything you've been through, everything that's happened…you deserve more than that."

"After everything _we've_ been through—" she shook her head again, her thumb grazing his chin as she watched him with bruising sympathy. "Toby, with everything we've been through together, don't you think I can see when you're hurting? Something bad went down tonight, didn't it?"

He looked away, examining the specks of gravel that dotted the pavement. He was ashamed of his own pathetic transparency and there weren't words for what he wanted to tell her. All he knew is that she was worthy of everything that their date was supposed to be – a cozy dinner, a lit fireplace, an evening of laughter and lightheartedness. He despised the idea of weighing her down with a new source of anxiety, and that was bound to be the result when he felt this thinly spread.

"C'mon," she whispered into the cricket-filled night, "give me your keys, please."

"No, I should…I should be alone. I'll be terrible company."

Spencer rose on tiptoe and pressed a steadfast kiss to his cheek. "Sorry, but that's not happening. You're coming with me, Officer."

Two of her hands enveloped one of his, and he had no choice but to follow as she began to tug him toward his designated parking spot. He wasn't really expecting her to drive, but he was too tired to protest when she scooped the key ring from his pocket, angling him toward the passenger side with some gentle prodding. Not a word passed between them as she directed the clunking truck along the twinkling summer streets. He couldn't even muster the energy to express his confusion when he realized that their destination was her house. It didn't matter – she sensed it anyway as they pulled up to the meticulous yard, divulging the details without being asked. "My mom's schedule got rearranged again, so she'll be in Harrisburg for an extra night or two."

Toby nodded mechanically. There was nothing unusual about her explanation, a fact that still had the potential to make his blood boil some days. It didn't matter how many times the Hastings had almost lost their youngest daughter in a variety of near misses over the years, the most recent of which had culminated in a series of terrifying events occurring just a few weeks ago. It had only manufactured a temporary sense of alarm and urgency in the pair of them, and then nothing. As soon as the threat of A had been neutralized, Peter and Veronica were as absent – and as separated—as ever.

But in moments like these, Toby was selfishly appreciative for the limitless independence that they'd granted to Spencer. She put his truck in park and led him through the kitchen door without a shred of apprehension or discomfort, her hand never straying from his, her voice floating around him with hypnotizing warmth as she offered to make him tea or heat up some leftovers. He sagged against the island and declined with an indifferent murmur. His appetite had abandoned him hours ago. In all reality, he probably wouldn't be able to keep his food down anyhow.

Spencer chewed on her lower lip, implicit concern wedged between her eyebrows. "If you want to talk about it…about whatever it is that happened during your shift, you know I'll listen, right?"

"I can't." A familiar sadness blazed across her face at those words, and Toby hurried to clarify his statement as soon as he recognized the place she'd gone to inside of her head. "No, Spencer, it isn't like that. I _can_ tell you, but…I'm not ready. It's…"

He inhaled sharply, unable to produce another coherent thought.

"Okay. No talking." She folded his hand more compactly into hers and nodded toward the staircase. "I have an idea for what we can do instead."

He wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he trailed behind her nonetheless. They were in her bedroom seconds later – her palms pushing against his shoulders until he sank into the indulgent red chair, the tips of her fingers dipping to unknot his uniform tie – when the first real shockwave of trauma struck him. He recoiled away from her touch with a sudden reeling force, plagued by a vicious flash of upheaval that came without his sanction.

She mirrored his actions with a startled gasp, her eyes large and frightened as she stumbled backward. "What—what did I do..? Are you—"

Toby shivered against the menacing litany of his memories, shoving those poisonous thoughts down while simultaneously reaching for her with frantic insistence. "No, no, you didn't do anything wrong, Spencer, I promise. It's me, I…I'm sorry."

With marked hesitance, she allowed his hands to lock around both of her wrists as he pulled her toward him again. He carefully steered her onto the arm of the chair, close enough that her long legs were dangling against his, but ultimately incapable of risking anything more intimate than that. Spencer cleared her throat and tried to speak past her cluttered emotions, palpable bewilderment still contorting her features. "I know you don't want to talk, but…but I'm really worried about you, Toby. What _was_ that?"

He sighed slowly, tightening his mouth as he searched for the right thing to say. "I don't think…I can't do this tonight…" he tilted his forehead in the direction of her perfectly tidy bed, his heart throbbing with internalized disgust, "…maybe I should just go home."

"Hey," she hummed softly from above him. Her hands fluttered lightly around his jawline, utilizing all of the tenderness in the world to align his gaze with hers. "I'll take you back to the loft if that's really what you want, no questions asked. But, Toby…that wasn't…that wasn't an attempt to get you into bed. You're always saying how scratchy and stiff that uniform is, so I thought you might start to feel more like yourself if you changed. And your hands are so cold…you've been shaking on and off from the moment you came out of the station. I could – if you want, of course – run a steam shower for you. It's supposed to be relaxing."

He blinked several times with a monstrous flare of embarrassment, his skin burning as he dismantled the warning bells that were chiming in his head. He hated to burden her when his mood was so ugly and unpredictable, but the notion of sitting alone to stew in his empty apartment was rapidly losing its appeal. "Are you…are you sure that you want me to stay? I would understand if you didn't."

"Do _you_ want to stay? Because if it were up to me, you'd never leave. Not tonight. Not any night."

Toby immersed himself in her generous cinnamon eyes, knowing his answer before he could even find a way to articulate it. He nodded, his hand tentatively cupping her knee. "Yes. And I'll take you up on that shower too."

Relief traveled through her with a noticeable exhale. "Okay. Wait here and I'll get everything ready for you, alright?"

She left a whisper of a kiss at his temple, then slid off the arm of the chair without another word. Toby buried his head in his hands as soon as she'd made her exit, silently begging himself to get it under control. He knew how scarred she was, knew firsthand how damaging the last two years of her life had been. He had no right to add to that, not when she'd just barely emerged from the worst of it. Spencer needed someone she could count on. She needed someone who was stable enough to offer her a dependable foundation while she found a way to re-build a life without A. If he was going to be that person, he had to rid himself of whatever past horrors were currently trying to leech their way back into his psyche.

When she came back into the room, he'd already stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, being sure to keep his uniform in a neat little stack on the ottoman. Spencer averted her eyes timidly before murmuring, "you can go in whenever you want...I set a towel out next to the sink for you."

His heart stuttered with a disorienting blend of love and remorse. He moved toward her without thinking twice, detesting the fact that his bizarre behavior had created such uncharacteristic shyness in her. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, Toby bent lower so that their noses met, his fingers scraping along her ribcage. "You're coming in too, right?"

"I thought you might want your privacy," she returned delicately, failing to hide her pinched expression. "If you need time to clear your head or…"

His grip tensed, bunching the filmy material of her sundress in his hands with uncalculated intensity. "I know I'm sending you mixed signals. I'm sorry."

"No," she turned her head briskly from side to side. "Don't say that. I'll do whatever you want me to do. It's up to you."

He kissed the top of her head before leaning away from her. He took great precaution, gingerly easing the dress up over her arms and then draping it across her bedspread. "This is what I want."

His lips dusted over hers in a short, chaste caress. She smiled somberly and found his hand once more. "Okay."

They wrapped themselves in matching fluffy towels, neither of them breathing a word as Spencer opened the shower door and motioned for him to step through the fogged glass. When he turned back to locate her a moment later, it was with catastrophic results—her downturned mouth was wobbling as she faltered on the other side of the doorway. Despite the circling steam that surrounded them, she was frozen to the spot, utterly immobilized.

"Spence? What is it?"

"Nothing," she volleyed back at him in a panicky rush. Before he could refute the blatant lie she'd just told, she was striding into the enclosed space with abrupt gusto, heaving the door shut with much more effort than necessary.

She volunteered nothing else, and the stillness clawed at his conscience. He had no reasonable guess as to what had set her off, but given the circumstances, it certainly had to be his fault in one way or another. She sat on the very edge of the bench seat and huddled forward over her knees without as much as a glance in his direction. After a short eternity, she gradually loosened her muscles into relaxed compliance, easing bit by bit until her back met with the wall beside him. It was only then that she turned her doe eyes up to greet him, a brimming repentance spilling from her dismayed expression.

"Sorry. I thought that would be easier than what it was," she mumbled hoarsely.

His hand smoothed over the ponytail that she'd yanked into place, trepidation warring through his stomach. "Why are you apologizing? I'm the one who's made everything—"

"No, Toby," she corrected hastily, "this wasn't you. It's not even about tonight. I…I got trapped in here by myself once, a while ago. It was A, but I don't know if it was Mona who did it, or—or…"

"Hey, it's okay," he countered without pause, doing everything he could to spare her from elaborating on what came next. The difficulty of saying _that_ name aloud still took a lot out of her, and his protective instincts far surpassed the levels of anger and distress that were also battling for dominance. "It's all okay now, I promise. I just…I had no idea. You never told me that."

She avoided his gaping look of concern. "I know. It…it was a few days after I found you here on the night of our anniversary and—and they made it seem like…"

Her lip quivered and her voice stalled out. Toby reached for her automatically, his arms enveloping her bare shoulders as he kissed the side of her head. "I'm _so_ sorry, baby. I didn't know, or I would have never asked you to do this."

She wilted further into his body, her words reaching him with gritty vulnerability. "That's exactly why I didn't tell you. I had to make myself do it. Because if I…if I don't face these things now, I'll live with the fear forever. And that's not what I want."

His throat went dry as he allowed himself to fully absorb the astounding strength that she possessed. It seemed impossible for any one person to be this resilient, this indescribably courageous. "You're so brave, Spence. You never fail to amaze me."

"I'm not that brave. I just knew that I could do it as long as you were with me."

Toby held onto her with all that he had, her quiet admission settling somewhere deep inside of him, mending a volatile piece of his fatigued heart. He didn't say anything in the moment. They stayed in that exact position – his arms looped around her slim figure, her face buried in the juncture of his shoulder – until the shower's programmed sauna settings clicked off and the mist around them faded away. Even then, he waited.

When she suggested a cup of chamomile tea this time, he accepted with earnest gratitude. They sat side-by-side on top of her comforter, nursing their steaming mugs, their legs woven together in front of them. He watched her zealously as she dunked her tea bag in and out of the hot water. Everything she did was seamless, perfect. She was gorgeous without trying, lounging against a throw pillow with her hair drying in dark ringlets, wearing that silly anchor t-shirt of his that she refused to replace. She was the beacon that called him to shore. There was no question as to where he belonged, especially on his worst days. If there was anything that could sustain him, anyone who could make sense of it all, it was her. It was always her.

"Spencer?"

Her complete concentration was on him in an instant. "Yeah?"

"About what happened earlier," he swallowed uncertainly, struggling for the right way to force the truth out of himself, "it's really…really hard for me to say this out loud, but it wouldn't be fair for me to keep it from you."

She instinctively reached for his hand before stopping herself with sudden indecision. Toby met her halfway, readily accepting the contact of her skin on his.

"I think I'm okay for now, but I'll let you know if that changes, alright?"

Spencer nodded up at him, infinite understanding painted in her amber eyes.

He stroked the back of her incredibly soft hand and let out a weighted sigh. "Several of the guys called off today, so we were short-staffed to begin with…I was trying to wrap up some old paperwork, so I didn't respond to the call that came through…something routine, a minor traffic accident I think. It was just a few minutes later that a second call came down the line, a domestic disturbance phoned in by a neighbor on the opposite end of town. Evans was the only other guy around, so I went with him. The dispatcher didn't give much detail. I thought I'd be back in plenty of time."

A tremor ran through him as he sipped his tea. His eyelids came together, deliberately shutting himself off from her until he could finish the next part. "We found the kids first. Two of them, both with black eyes…and the wife…she was upstairs on the bed, sobbing. Evans had already radioed for the paramedics, but I knew. I knew without having to hear it from them. I could tell just by looking at her."

Spencer squeezed his hand with remarkable gentleness. He let his eyes wash over her again, his jaw clenching at the overwhelming heartbreak in her gaze.

"It…it messed me up more than it should have…and I know it's because of my past. To see someone else in that place, helpless…trapped…" He choked back a betraying sniffle, trading his grief for polluted rage. "It's probably a good thing the bastard was gone when we got there. I would have killed him right then and there."

He knew that he'd stunned her with that vindictive declaration, but she didn't react outwardly. "Has…has he been caught?"

"Yes," Toby muttered wearily, "he was in a bar just a few blocks away, shooting pool and chugging a beer, not a care in the world. How…how can it be so easy to do that to another human being, to destroy your family like that and…and just not_ give a damn_ about it…?"

Fleeting dread spread through him when Spencer wormed out of his grip, but she was quick to deposit both of their teacups on the nightstand and turn back to him, her arms beckoning him forward. He let his body go slack against hers, tears falling unchecked into the safe harbor of her neck. The low tone of her pacifying voice washed over him as her hands migrated in rhythmic waves against his back and through his short hair. "I don't know, Toby. I don't think I'll ever know. But if I could, I'd take it all away…for them…for _you_. You're so good, so pure…and I love you so, so much. I wish—"

She cut herself off with a broken sigh. "I don't know…I wish I could make it better."

"You do," he answered roughly, clutching blindly at her shirt, "every day, Spence, you do."

Her only response was to drop a kiss at the top of his head and fasten her arms more definitively around his broad frame. His back began to ache with the awkwardness of their half-upright embrace, but he couldn't bring himself to release her. Instead, he made a move to guide her downward onto the mattress. Her palm glided against his elbow before catching him more firmly around the wrist.

"Toby…are you sure?" Her sparkling copper irises were wide with worry. "I can sleep in the guestroom if you want, or even curl up in the chair. Whatever makes you most comfortable."

The pad of his thumb swayed over her lower lip. "Don't leave. I'm positive."

There was more distance between them than usual, but they managed to find each other nonetheless. One of his hands vanished into her hair, the other one clinging stubbornly to a set of her willowy fingers, their knees touching just barely beneath the sheets. His head curved across the pillowcase to be as close to hers as he could allow. He wanted to give her more of himself—especially when she'd nearly experienced a breakdown of her own less than an hour ago—but it wouldn't be worth the risk. He had no interest in returning to that place where he felt like a victim all over again, not when he had something so much more important awaiting him on the other side. She was the sole reason he had made it this far after all that Jenna had done to him; she'd be his sole reason for getting past this setback as well.

"Thank you for being so patient with me tonight, Spence. Seriously. I'm not good at _this_, you know?" He nodded faintly between them, hoping that she would grasp his meaning. "But you did everything you could to make it easier on me."

A tiny smile illuminated her face. "I just tried to think like you. You're the nurturing one in this relationship."

He shook his head in disbelief. "You're better at this than you think."

"You make me better," she hummed with irrefutable confidence.

The corner of his mouth lifted in harmony with hers. "That goes both ways. What you said earlier about facing the fear…and how you trust me to be there for you…? I heard that, Spencer. _Really_ heard it. I know it isn't good to bottle this stuff up, but without you, that's exactly what I'd be doing."

Contentment surged into her expression, but a persistent shadow of sorrow caught his attention.

"What?" he asked quietly, inching nearer. "Something's wrong."

"No, it's just…" she tore her eyes away from him, "I'm sorry, I don't want to push you, but…do you—do you think you'll stay on the police force forever?"

In all honesty, he was surprised it had taken her this long to pose that particular question. "Not forever, baby. Not even for the rest of the summer."

"Really?" She vaulted her regard back at him with vigorous enthusiasm.

"Really."

"It's not that I wouldn't support whatever choice you made, but there's so many things about the job that just…I don't like what it does to you, how it affects you…and…"

Her words ebbed away then, and he knew her well enough to identify the source of her agitation.

"It's okay, you can say it. I'm not exactly cut out for public service. No offense taken." He tipped his face lower so she could plainly see the sincerity behind his reassurances. "I didn't want to quit right away, not until we were…_sure_. I didn't want it to be like last time."

She nodded grimly. They'd made that mistake before, assumed that A would be locked away for the rest of eternity, only to learn that their nightmare had been far, far from over.

Toby's hand slipped consolingly along the nape of her neck. "But that's it. That's the only reason I haven't resigned yet, and after today…I'd say they'll be seeing my pink slip sooner rather than later."

"You can't begin to imagine how glad I am to hear that, Tobes," she murmured warmly.

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah," she said, an electric light entering her countenance, "especially since I'm still planning on taking you with me for the next four years."

His grin was insatiable. "So that offer hasn't left the table? We haven't talked about it lately…"

"Nothing's changed, Toby. We've lost enough time already, haven't we? I'm not interested in wasting any more of it, not if we don't have to…" her eyes dimmed a notch before she went on, "but I know that's asking a lot, what with the loft and trying to make new connections for a job—"

"Nope, stop right there," he interrupted with an insistent smirk, "there will _always_ be work for me, okay? And there are plenty of apartments in this world. There's only one you."

She smiled demurely, and on the off chance that she remained unconvinced, Toby arched toward her on impulse and kissed her with staggering abandon. He didn't let it last for very long, but judging by the sated look that romped dreamily across her features, it had been more than enough persuade her.

"So we're going to college," she whispered in a cute little singsong.

He laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the absurdity of it all. His life had gone in so many strange, unforeseen directions over the last several years. He'd been catapulted into places he never expected to go, had fought harder and stronger for anything – or rather, anyone – than what he'd thought possible. And it had hurt. God, there were times when everything had hurt like hell, times when he wanted to lie down and surrender it all.

But one look at her and he had no doubt as to what he'd gained in the midst of what felt like a million smaller losses. For her, he would have faced anything, would have waited till the end of time.

"Yes, we're going to college."

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_a/n :: Thanks for reading! I might - keyword, **MIGHT** \- extend this into a two-shot depending on my ability to find the appropriate level of time/creativity to do so...like...I'm tired of writing under the show's constraints right now (a.k.a. I'm tired of trying to accommodate the unresolved emotional plots and the never-ending A saga), but not at all tired of Spencer and Toby..? Does that make any sense? So maybe be on the lookout for an update on this one since I have a follow-up idea for it ;)_

_You guys are the rockingest. Thanks for all the love &amp; support along the way._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi! I actually did it - I wrote part two! It was barely started, just wasting away indefinitely, until I had a reality check over the fact that the season 6 premiere was breathing down my neck...and I really wanted to get this posted before the new episodes could make it officially irrelevant. Thanks to all of you who read/reviewed the first section - I hope this one is a bit more fun for you ;)_

_As always, I don't own anything other than an unending devotion to Spoby happiness. All feedback is greatly appreciated!_

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The back of his t-shirt clung to his sticky skin, a merciless reminder of the fact that he still had not made time to repair his truck's finicky air conditioning system. It didn't matter. Nothing, not even the overbearing wave of midsummer humidity, could spoil his sky-high mood. For the first time in forever, Toby had the distinct impression that everything was finally going his way. It seemed foolish to trust the euphoric feeling that occupied his soul; there had always been a dark sense of cosmic equilibrium in the alignment of his life, some brand of warped karma that taught him to believe that nothing good could ever last. He could easily chart two decades worth of continuous disappointment. His father had never really bother with him, had all but admitted that he lacked the time and the energy to show much of an interest in his only son. Instead, it had been his mother who supplied him with unlimited love and attention, but then she had also been the one to leave him behind at too young of an age. He'd naïvely imagined that he was given a new chance at a real family when Jenna had first befriended him, but his stepsister took endless advantage of his bleak solitude, dragging him down to the pits of a private hell that he almost hadn't escaped.

And it really wasn't much of an escape once it was all said and done. He'd merely exchanged one prison for another, all at the hands of a wily little blonde who had once claimed to be his friend. Chalk it up to another fateful miscalculation. Alison had _never_ been one to take rejection well, a lesson he'd learned the hard way after their almost-kiss – in her demented rulebook, 'freaky' Toby Cavanaugh had gotten exactly what he deserved.

Then there was Spencer. In a whirlwind of French vocab, sleuthing, a game of Scrabble, and one hell of a coffee-infused kiss, Spencer Hastings had upturned his entire existence. She'd been such a risk, too. It was how he'd known that she was the only one for him – unless his heart had outright demanded it, there would have been no chance of opening himself up to someone like her. He'd spent years avoiding the 'Spencer Hastings' types in this world. She represented everything he'd thought that he hated, everything he'd never understood. She was driven, entitled, arrogant, and to really seal the deal, her name was irrevocably entangled with the likes of Alison Dilaurentis. He still wasn't sure how it really happened. Despite every factor that worked against them, he still found himself sleeping next to her in the strangest of scenarios, half-naked in a motel bed, surrounded by her sweet scent, enchanted by her raspy voice, dreaming of so much more. She was a stronghold of hope in the human form and he'd latched on to her with everything he had.

Even then, he'd been waiting for the other shoe drop, expecting the shit to hit the proverbial fan at any given moment…and oh, did it ever. Everything had crashed and burned a million times over. They sped from one disaster to the next in a toxic labyrinth of deception, murder, secrets, blackmail, and a ceaseless lineup of hooded adversaries. For all of the difficulties he'd already lived through, the challenge of holding onto Spencer in the midst of such impossible turmoil came with a level of agony that was unlike anything else he'd ever known. It didn't matter how he tried to attack her demons; they always returned with an intensified force, meaner, uglier, stronger. And they'd sacrificed so much for each other, had been pushed to make excruciating decisions, decisions that they had no business making when they were still so young. Their relationship had taken a beating so brutal that it simply should not have survived. They loved each other to the point of ruin.

But as Toby shifted the truck into park and peeled himself away from the scorching leather interior, he felt anything but ruined. They _had_ survived. They were on their way out of Rosewood with no plans of ever making a permanent return trip. As impossible as it seemed, they were finally moving forward.

And as he made his way up to her familiar sundrenched bedroom on the second floor of her parents' house, he was surprised to see that she was quite literally on a 'moving forward' mission. There were several cardboard boxes strewn about, heaps of books and clothing littering every available surface, the wild disorder of her belongings coming into stark contrast with the typical tidiness that characterized everything she did. It was like he'd tumbled into an alternate universe, or – based on the horror stories that Caleb had shared with him – it was like he'd tumbled into Hanna Marin's bedroom. To hear Caleb talk about it, Hanna's idea of 'choosing an outfit' often turned her whole room into a post-apocalyptic warzone. Until now, Toby had always assumed that his friend had been exaggerating when he compared it to a ransacked crime scene, or worse, the site of an abduction.

An eerie sense of déjà vu crept over him as his head swiveled from one end of the room to the other. In all of the swarming chaos, he didn't see or hear Spencer anywhere. It was too still, too quiet. His teasing thoughts of Caleb and Hanna dissolved into escalating dread as he was faced with the all-too-realistic probability of his girlfriend actually being taken from him..._again_.

"Spencer?!"

Her head popped up from somewhere underneath the other side of the bed, her mouth hanging open as if she'd been scandalized by his presence. "I swear to God, Toby, don't you ever sneak up on me like that again! You're lucky I didn't decapitate myself on the bedframe!"

He chuckled in spite of her sour reaction, the absurdity of his false alarm spreading through him in a wave of jangled nerves. "Wha-what are you—"

"Yes, go ahead and laugh at the fact that you just shaved ten years off of my life…it's hilarious, really."

"Please, you'll have to forgive me," he wandered toward her, carefully navigating the hazardous maze of obstacles and fighting to keep the humor – and the relief – out of his voice, "I was on a desperate search and rescue mission to retrieve you from what appeared to be a crisis situation. There was no time for a gentle approach."

She grinned up at him from her spot on the floor. "It _is_ that bad in here, isn't it?"

"Oh, a total disaster zone. It's nearly unrecognizable." He took both of her outstretched hands and easily pulled her up to her feet, her body jolting against his as if he'd been handling a ragdoll. "But my haste was apparently for nothing. You look as good as ever, perfectly intact as far as I can see."

His azure gaze lowered over her body – just a tiny tank top and a pair of running shorts clinging to her lithe figure – before he raised his eyes back to hers with a devilish gleam. "Yep. Perfect."

She tried to shove him away with a flushed smirk, but he still had a firm grasp on her hands and she didn't get far at all. "You're crazy."

"You bet I am," he replied immediately. His lips chased after hers, and she surrendered a second later without much opposition. Toby smiled against her mouth as he stole several lingering kisses, giving her just a hint of how much he'd missed her in the hours they'd spent apart since she left his loft the previous evening. He released her hands, his arms yearning to wrap her up and trap her against him, but Spencer ducked away from him as soon as she was set free.

"I've been working in here all day," she explained with a hint of mischief in her voice, "I'm way too yucky for _that_."

"Hey, don't I get to be the one who determines that?"

He reached for her waist, but she snatched his hands in hers and interlocked their fingers in a snug little web. "Nice try. Now tell me about your day. How did it feel to turn in that badge and walk out of there for the last time?"

"It was pretty liberating," he admitted with a poignant smile, "but a little sad too. I mean…there's a part of me that really did like the idea of being in there…you know, as someone who had no interest in cutting corners or working the system for my own benefit."

Her face scrunched together at his words. "Yeah, the cops in this town have never been my definition of Rosewood's finest. You were certainly the exception…although _anyone_ would be a step up from the illustrious Detective Wilden. Or Holbrook…oh, and Garrett Reynolds…the list probably goes on, doesn't it?"

He nodded, ignoring the ache of melancholy that threatened to erupt if he chose to dwell on the hellish exploitation that Spencer had endured from his horribly corrupt predecessors. "Exactly. That was the one aspect of my job that I actually enjoyed. I knew I could make a difference, even if it was just a small difference."

"Toby…you know that we could make it work if that's what you really wanted, right? It's not—"

"No," he interrupted without hesitation, "that isn't what I want, Spence. It's a nice thought, but I have no interest in sticking around Rosewood for anything, let alone for a job that comes with such a high price tag."

Bitter memories from the particularly disturbing call he'd been on a few weeks ago sprang to the forefront of his mind, but Spencer was right there, chasing the darkness away with the warm touch of her skin. Her thumbs rubbed small circles into his hands, her eyes intent on his. "Okay. If you change your mind—even after we move—and you want to pick it back up in the future…"

"I appreciate it, but honestly, I'm more relieved than anything. I just want a fresh start."

She nodded up at him, and judging by the eagerness that brightened her expression, she was just as excited at the thought of her own impending fresh start. "Well hopefully you didn't have to respond to anything overly strenuous today, Officer, because I'm ready to put you to work here."

He rolled his eyes, scoffing in mock-exasperation. "You do realize that, as of today, my title of Officer has officially become obsolete, right?"

"Yesss," she huffed dramatically, "and I'm not sure what I'm more upset about – losing the use of that nickname, or the fact that I won't be seeing you in uniform anymore."

"Because it totally _was_ a turn-on, huh?"

Her sheepish grin was all the answer he needed. He reeled her back in, and before he could say or do anything else, she was rising on her toes and kissing him lavishly. His hand curled around her exposed neck, his fingers toying with the few wisps of hair that had escaped her nutmeg ponytail. She hummed against his mouth and ran her hands from his shoulders to his chest, then further southward over the hard planes of his abdominals. Her head angled away from him then, her lips melting against his cheek, then his jaw…

"See what you've done," she murmured against his pulse point, "you come in here and completely derail my progress."

Toby stepped closer yet, leveraging one foot between the pair of hers. "Is that such a bad thing?"

Her hands altered their course, going back up to his shoulders to get a firmer grip before she began to pry him off of her. "I have a very strict schedule this summer. Today is a college preparation and cleaning day, and it comes with a long checklist. You know how I feel about uncompleted checklists."

He laughed softly at her single-mindedness and feathered one final kiss against her forehead. "Alright, boss. What can I do to help?"

"Ummm," her voice stalled momentarily, and he watched with a bit of smug satisfaction as she made a pointed effort of clearing the haze of desire from her blinking brown eyes. "Do you mind carrying a few things up to the attic for me?"

"No problem," he tilted his head to one side, his eyes bounding over the cluttered room. He'd been so absorbed in her that he'd nearly forgotten about the raging disorder that circled them. "Well, it will be no problem as long as I can find my way out of this place."

She bit back a grin, failing to deliver the stern look of disapproval that wavered on the horizon of her classic features. Instead of addressing his bantering commentary, she turned away and provided a concise rundown of her organizational system, gesturing from one pile to the next in a rapid-fire set of directions that left him spinning. When she'd finally finished with the last tidbit of information on which set of color-coded tote bags were intended for drop-off at Goodwill, Toby just shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck in awe. "I know I've asked this before, but…what's a nice way to say that someone's obsessive?"

"Are you saying you can't keep up, Cavanaugh?"

He snickered at the challenge in her voice, not daring to mention anything that could result in a cutthroat competition. "Nope, not at all. What I'm saying is that if you need me, I'll be in the attic."

Her smile was livelier than the July sky. "Good answer."

His first trip up to the Hastings' attic went without incident. Aside from the instant puddle of sweat that ran down his spine as he trudged into the blazing inferno, he was completely unaware of his surroundings, moving unthinkingly as if on autopilot. After a quick reload from Spencer's room, he was on his way again and that's when he hit the jackpot. An inescapable spiral of dust engulfed him as soon as he'd discarded a set of gigantic Rubbermaid tubs onto the creaky wooden floor. He sneezed once…twice…and then a third time, this one nearly knocking him off of his feet. His nose seemed to be emptied at last, and when he lifted his head, it was straight in his line of vision. A tall pink book was wedged into the crowded shelf, the cursive script of 'Spencer Jill Hastings' embossed across the binding in glossy gold letters.

"Hey, Spence," he called, clattering down the steps with an irrepressible smile, "wanna tell me why I've never seen this before? You're _adorable_."

She flew out of her room and into the hallway, a mortified groan already climbing from her throat. "Tell me it isn't—"

"Your baby book?" He waved a page full of infant portraits in front of him. "I can't believe that you've been holding out on me like this! Look at you with those chubby little—"

"Yes, I know, I was the world's roundest baby. My arm rolls had arm rolls."

He came closer, his mouth still suspended in a beaming expression. "You're saying that like it's a bad thing. Everyone knows that chubby babies are the cutest babies. Forget the newborn with a six pack idea, because this is way better."

Her eyes glimmered with laughter as she took the album from him. "I don't know. I'm still holding out for your genetics, Tobes, especially if that means another set of those baby blues…"

"But with your hair, okay? Look how curly it is there," he murmured from over her shoulder as she flipped a few pages over, landing on a snapshot of Spencer and Melissa in matching red dresses. "You can't be more than a few months old, and you have a full head of miniature ringlets."

"Maybe I don't want to subject my future child to that burden. It looks like an oversized brillo pad is attached to my scalp."

Toby seized her elbow in his hand, spinning her around to face him. "You've got to be kidding me, Spencer. You're beautiful. Even back then, you were absolutely beautiful."

She floundered for a response, clearly caught off-guard by the unexpected sincerity in his voice.

"Look, I know we're just kidding around here," he went on, gesturing at the photo book in her hands, "it's not like either one of us is ready for a kid…but you have to know that when the day comes and this conversation is no longer hypothetical, I'd be out-of-this-world ecstatic to have a carbon copy of you, Spence. The curls, the arm rolls, all of it."

Her eyelashes fell like a curtain. She lowered her head as if she were examining the album's pages in immense detail. When the silence lasted for longer than he'd anticipated, Toby began to reevaluate what he'd said, wondering if he'd somehow hit a nerve without realizing it. He was beginning to formulate an apology, his mouth parting with some fumbled attempt at backpedaling, but he never had the opportunity.

Spencer kissed him fiercely without warning, her hand fusing to the back of his head and her lips hot on his. He knew that she was trying to tell him something without having to say the actual words, and he accepted it gratefully, kissing her back with an equaled fervor. His feet shuffled forward and his nose burrowed against hers. The universe was quiet and the air was thick, the heat of the day becoming secondary to the way that Spencer made him feel when she was kissing him like she'd never get the chance to kiss him again.

"Okay," she exhaled noisily against his chin, her body propped lazily against his, "now…back to the checklist, Cavanaugh. You're sidetracked far too easily."

"And _you're_ no fun, Hastings. This is like being in the Academy all over again," he grumbled with a shrewd smirk, his hand ruffling the ends of her ponytail.

Spencer pushed the closed baby book against his chest and kissed him again. "Good. Someone's got to keep you in line."

"Yes, ma'am."

She swatted at his backside as he dutifully turned back to his work. He arched a solitary eyebrow in her direction before stooping to gather more cargo. "I take it back, this is _way_ different than a day at the Academy. And so much better."

Her resounding giggle trailed behind him as he hauled another load of boxes upstairs. It didn't take much longer for him to finish off her attic-bound pile, but Spencer was fully prepared to reassign him – his next chore was to lug more boxes and bags down to the trunk of her SUV so she could deliver them to consignment or charity. They went on in easy silence from there, Toby coming and going every few minutes while Spencer buzzed around from one corner to the next with her beloved clipboard in hand.

When the last tote bag was successfully packed away in her trunk, Toby reentered her bedroom with a bottle of water in each hand, effortlessly tossing one to her from across the room. "Break time, right?"

"Wrong," she retorted without looking up from the stack of shirts she was folding at her desk. "I'm trusting you with a more sophisticated task this time."

"Wow. What an honor."

She glanced up at him then, her amber eyes crinkling at his flat-lined sarcasm. "I can assure you that your labor will be well rewarded, Toby. Did I fail to mention that we're operating on a high-level incentive program?"

He nearly choked on his mouthful of water. "On that note, please give me more to do."

"I thought that might change your tune," she said with a charming lilt in her voice. "Can you go through my closet and pull out everything that I won't need until winter? I cleared some room for them on the bed. Just grab all of the obvious stuff, like boots and heavy sweaters or jackets, scarves…flannels…" His face must have blatantly reflected his hesitancy, because her words tapered off with an amused look. "What? I'll be right here if you have a question! But c'mon, you know what winter clothes look like."

"Yeah, except it isn't that simple with you. You were wearing boots the other day and it was 80-something degrees out."

She laughed as if he'd said something unreasonable. "Those aren't the kind of boots I'm talking about. I wear those with—"

"See!" He cut her off with a piercing look. "Not. Simple. I'm a guy. Boots are boots. Scarves are scarves."

"Apparently I overestimated you," she vaulted back at him with a shake of her head, "just start on the left side with the jackets…or anything made of wool. I'll come over to help as soon as I'm done with this."

He shrugged and took another sip from his water bottle, then turned his attention to the closet. The white French doors were already dangling partially open with a few empty hangers spilling onto the floor. He did his best to wipe his hands on his t-shirt before delving further in, not wanting to get a single smudge of dirt or sweat on anything in her pristinely-kept wardrobe. With a halfhearted tug, the door on the left swung open before him, but his attention was swiftly diverted to something far more significant than wool sweaters. Everything she owned was awkwardly parted to one side or the other, several of her longer garments draping over a large object that occupied a substantial chunk of floor space. Once he'd pushed a few dresses out of the way, it was clear that she'd recently reorganized the closet's contents to accommodate the handcrafted rocking chair that he had built for her more than a year ago.

Toby spun toward her with confusion etched into his face, but he didn't have to say a word. Her posture stiffened with a sudden inhale and he immediately knew that she was aware of the discovery he'd made. Spencer stood with a pained grimace, her gaze downcast, and he heard her muttering under her breath a moment later – "God, I'm an idiot."

"Spence? Is it broken or...or do you just not want it anymore? It's ok—"

"No!" Her eyes were enormous, flashing at him with such ferocity that he was nearly convinced they'd fly right out of her head. "Oh my God, Toby, of course I still want it!"

"Then...maybe you've been sitting inside of your closet lately? Doing some thinking in there…?" He tried to keep a dash of lightheartedness threaded into his words, but the stormy look on her face did nothing to alleviate his mounting anxiety.

She began pacing in the narrow pathway between the desk and the bed, her fingers snarled together as she blew out a long sigh. "No, it's…it's not that. I, umm…when I was in there, in the dollhouse…"

His chest constricted. That topic had mostly become taboo between the two of them. He made a vigorous effort to keep the news turned off when she was around, shutting out the nagging cycle of updates regarding the trial that was still months away. It wasn't as if they'd never discussed it. In fact, she had been the one to initiate the conversation once she'd been released from protective custody, saying that she wouldn't make him dig for the facts by pulling her filed statement from the precinct's records. And there had been a lot of long, restless nights at first. He'd stayed by her side as much as her parents would allow, often keeping her company as she did nothing more than stare up at the ceiling for hours on end, barely sleeping and speaking even less. But once the real Charles had finally been caught, she'd been so strong, so stable. Other than some very occasional obstacles – like the night she'd frozen when she tried to join him in the steam shower – there had been almost no evidence of those two years of trauma she'd suffered under A's reign of terror.

But now he was sure that he'd failed her. She'd apparently spared him some of the darker details, and now he was infuriated with himself for not asking more questions. He stayed close to the closet, his hands shaking as they scraped through his messy hair. "I'm sorry, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do…" she bit down on her lip for another second before starting hurriedly. "As you know, he…he simulated all of our bedrooms. They weren't perfect replicas, but there was a surprising amount of detail…enough to really screw with my head. The layout, the wallpaper…"

His stomach plummeted as it clicked together in his brain. "The chair."

Spencer nodded with a resigned frown. "The chair. He found one just like yours. It was one of the first things I gravitated to when I woke up in that hellhole. I…I was trying to break out, and I thought I could smash it through a window, but…but I had to be sure that the chair wasn't actually this one before I…I don't know, I was just so disoriented about what was going on. So I flipped it over, and it had a barcode sticker on it from…from the factory or wherever he got it."

She was lost for a few seconds, and Toby held his breath as he waited. He wanted to go to her, to hold her in his arms, but it was premature and he knew it. She was somewhere else, someplace he couldn't go with her. It was a difficult lesson that they'd both learned with a lot of practice – how to give space when space was the last thing you wanted to give.

Her voice eventually warbled on again, lower and scratchier than before. "After…after we got out…I kept reliving it and it was so real, like I'd never escaped. On the nights that you couldn't be here, especially early on, I would wake up…still halfway trapped in a nightmare…and not know if this was really my room. Then I'd see the chair, and have to work up the nerve to get out of bed and check for that damn barcode sticker…"

He was indescribably relieved when her hollow eyes found their way back to him at last. "When he…when he went to jail, I thought that would be it. It was over, right? But a couple of nights later, you had the overnight shift, my mom wasn't here, and it happened…and I was furious with myself. So I stuffed the chair into my closet…"

"And now you do that every night? Put it back in, so you'll know where you are in case…"

"In case the dream decides to come back," she murmured with defeat dragging at her shoulders. "And it's worked for the most part. I usually remember to move it back and forth, but sometimes I forget to get it back out like I did today – or worse – I forget to put it back in, and then I wake up with the same nightmare, and…well, you get the picture."

Toby took an unsettled step toward her, his brow folding with devastating grief. "And why is this the first time I'm hearing about these nightmares?"

Her answer was instantaneous, as if she'd been anticipating that particular question. "Because they never happen when you're here. I never have a single bad dream when I'm sleeping next to you. It's like my subconscious just _knows_...knows that I'm safe, I guess."

The twinge of contented gratitude that sifted over him couldn't make up for the overriding torment that still gripped his heart. "You still should have told me…I could have asked for all daylight shifts or—"

"No, Toby, that wouldn't have been approved and you know it. And besides, it's like I told you before…I have to get over this stuff…I can't let it—can't let _him_—control the rest of my life."

"I respect you so much for that, Spence, you know I do." He fought to subdue his anguish, clearing his throat unevenly. "But it's also like _I_ told _you_ before – how can I help you if I don't even know what's going on?"

Her mouth was pressed into a tight line as she nodded. She crept across the carpet seemingly in slow motion. "I know. I wish it wasn't so hard for me to do that…it's not like I don't want to…"

And in spite of all his frustration and sadness and regret, Toby was positive that he could write a novel full of justifiable reasons as to why she struggled so much with opening up to him. It was Spencer through and through – her parents, her upbringing, her inherent perfectionism, all of her fears and doubts; then add in her experiences with Alison, with A, and with the police. It didn't take a degree in psychology for him to understand that the idea of exposing any sign of insecurity, or God forbid, insanity, was something that just did not come naturally for her.

"Come here," he gestured to her, forcing himself to loosen the harsh frown lines from his face. He took extra care as he freed the rocking chair from the confines of her closet, setting it down in a thin sliver of vacant floor space.

She met him there, her eyes uncertain as she watched him sink into the wooden frame. "Are you…are you sure…?"

His arms opened to her, and she slipped onto his lap automatically, her wrists crisscrossing behind his neck as her legs slid against his. The humidity continued to rise around them, but he didn't care. Toby gathered her further into him, his lungs on the brink of collapse as he was once again plagued with the memory of coming so close to losing her forever to that homicidal psychopath.

"Sometimes I think this is when I'm actually dreaming," she whispered into his shirt, "because there's no way that you're still here after everything that's happened. You're too good to be true."

"I'm really here because we're what's true, Spencer." His thoughts from earlier in the day came back to him, ringing around his head with the echo of revived clarity. "We made it. We survived. This is our reality."

Her head fell more soundly into the crook of his neck. With his feet planted solidly on the pale carpet, Toby began to rock them with a soothing, steady rhythm. He let his eyes drift shut for just a few seconds, concentrating on nothing other than the smooth pattern of her soft breathing.

With a hand dragging idly down the length of tank top, he mumbled against her temple, "You know that I'd do anything for you, right?"

"I think you've more than proved that, Toby."

He smiled at the warmth in her response. "Then let me take this chair back to the loft, or to a storage unit somewhere. Or to the dump. I don't care what it takes for you to feel safe again, even if it means trashing this thing for good. It's not worth causing you any more pain."

She shook her head, matting her hair against his shoulder. "I meant what I said – of course I still want it. I'd be heartbroken if—"

"But, Spence—"

"Listen, Toby. I'm serious," she spoke quietly, sitting up in his lap and taking his jaw in both of her hands. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt for you to keep it at the loft for now, but that's it. No storage units, and _absolutely_ no to trashing it. I would never consider losing any piece of our time together, especially not something that you made for me. It's too important to me, and even with the all of the bad stuff we've been through…there has still been so much good, sweetheart."

He closed the miniscule gap from his face to hers, kissing her gently. "Okay. I'll take it with me tonight."

"Okay," she mimicked, a renewed happiness surfacing in her chocolate gaze, "now kiss me like you mean it, boyfriend."

Toby returned to her with a grin, his lips greedily colliding with hers as he traced her enticing silhouette with both of his hands. In an instant she'd shifted positions, her legs on either side of him, her mouth opening above his with a vibrant invitation. The chair rocked a little too wildly when he enthusiastically reciprocated, causing both of them to chuckle as they scrambled for something to hold onto until he'd settled their pace.

"Mmm…" he grinned sluggishly as she kissed the indent on his chin, "what about the checklist, boss? We have winter clothes to pack, you know. You're sidetracked _so_ easily, Hastings…"

"You're right…" she nuzzled her nose against his. "We shouldn't lose momentum."

She began to scoot off of him with an abrupt resolve, but he rushed to catch her by the wrist, his torso heaving. "Whoa, I was kidding! Where do you think you're going? I'm ready to cash in on the incentive program."

Her rascally one-sided smirk ignited his heart's stuttering beat. "You have been working very hard today, haven't you?"

He kissed her in reply, his mouth adhering to her lower lip. "Mmhmm…"

If she had anything else to say, he didn't let her get around to it. The tips of his fingers clung to her, searching over her bare arms, mapping out her sinuous legs in unrestrained rapture. Her hands rifled through his scalp as she pulled at him impatiently. With another unbearably feverish kiss, Toby leveraged an arm beneath her and stood, briefly tearing his mouth away from hers for the sole purpose of charting a course to her bed through the room's precarious clutter of half-finished projects.

"No," she gasped dizzily into his ear, "not the bed, Toby Cavanaugh. I just washed those sheets, and you're sweaty."

"_I'm_ sweaty?" He panted back at her, the mirth in his voice blending with gravelly frustration.

Her legs cinched around his waist as she tried to maintain her hold around his middle. "Alright, it's a zillion degrees outside and we're both sweaty. That doesn't change the fact that the sheets are clean and we are not."

He gave her a boost, rearranging his arms to better support her as they remained in limbo, the sizzling sun streaming through the window and painting her skin in white light. "Suggestions, then? Because it isn't getting any cooler in here."

"Okay, okay…" she leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she came alive with a brilliant smile, her hands gripping his shoulders fanatically. "I've got it, and I think you're going to like this…"

She squirmed out of his grasp, her feet skimming the floor for just a second before she launched herself toward the closet. He didn't have to wonder for long – she reappeared promptly, a microscopic bikini top swinging from her index finger. "How about we go for a swim?"

Toby nodded mutely, making a strenuous effort to retain some level of composure at the mental image of Spencer in that slight scrap of fabric.

"Is that a yes, Tobes?" she asked with a perceptive snicker.

"Yeah…sure, we could swim if, uh—"

She cut off his rambling endorsement by flinging a pair of swimming trunks at him. "Those are for you. I went shopping with Hanna yesterday, and she's determined to drag the four of us on a double date to the lake before we leave next month. Don't ask me why, but she insisted on buying them…I think it's a bribe to make sure that we agree to go with her."

"Remind me to thank her later," he muttered blankly as Spencer began to discard her clothes in front of him.

"Hey, that staring and drooling thing you're doing over there is really cute, but I'm not waiting around for you to change. It's too damn hot for that."

He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it at her, his bashful grin coming unbidden. "Fine. Last one in the pool has to finish cleaning this room alone, while the winner catches up on whatever we're currently supposed to be reading for book club."

"Toby! You haven't started the new book?!"

His belt was already unbuckled when he shot a haughty glance up at her. "Good luck tying those bikini strings by yourself, Spence. I hope you're looking forward to an evening of packing boxes and dusting shelves."

"Oh, hell no—" she began to fumble with the straps of her top, her exasperation running rampant at the possibility of losing. "You distracted me on purpose!"

He didn't pause to form a retort. While she might have had a decent head start on him, simplicity was on his side. With only a few swift movements, he was pulling the trunks up around his waist, and then he was off, racing out her door and down the stairs.

"_Toby_!" With a booming commotion—and a few wayward curse words—Spencer emerged from behind him, sounding much closer on his heels than what he'd anticipated. He jumped off the last step and dove for the nearest set of French doors without a glimpse backward. The slap of her bare feet on the hardwood had grown louder, but he still had the advantage. In a few long strides, he was rounding the edge of the patio with his goal in sight, the insufferable sun beating down on him with each footfall. He stretched his arms out in victory, aiming his final barrage of trash talk over his shoulder.

"Sorry baby, but someone's gotta lose, righ—"

A jumble of elbows and knees crashed into him suddenly. Bright blue water smacked ruthlessly against his stomach as he found himself flopping gracelessly forward with the force of her unforeseen momentum. Toby broke through the surface in a flash, spewing chlorine-infused water and spinning in hectic circles as he sought that familiar head of long, dark hair.

"Gotcha!" A tidal wave of water drenched him from behind. "What was that you were saying about losing, _baby_?"

"Oh, no no no—" he whirled around to face her, being sure to splash her in retaliation, "—you didn't win! You played dirty, and you lost anyway. I definitely hit the water before you did!"

"Prove it," she returned smugly with her arms crossed in front of her.

He reached for her hips from beneath the water, drawing her against him with a deliberate look of incredulity. "I can't prove it. That's impossible and you know it."

"That's because it was a tie. And that's a real shame for you, because now you're back on cleaning-sorting-packing duty with yours truly." She wound her arms around him and stamped a wet kiss onto his cheek. "But not before you get compensated for this afternoon's work…"

Spencer's body swayed provocatively against his naked upper half. Her mouth nipped teasingly at his, giving him just the slightest taste of what was to come.

"Wha-what time will your mo—"

"Not till late," she said in that raspy voice that drove him mad, "so we'll have the place to ourselves for awhile. Which is certainly in your favor, Officer Cavanaugh, because we'll need plenty of time to tan that pale ass of yours."

"Excuse me, miss?" He dipped her backwards with a threatening glare. "I am _not _pale."

She held onto him even tighter as her unraveling ponytail disappeared into the water. "No, you didn't used to be pale…you know, back when you spent the whole summer outside...shirtless." Her hands cruised downward and reacquainted themselves with his well-defined abdomen, her mouth twisting with a sly expression. "Maybe losing the uniform wasn't such a bad idea after all."

Toby anchored an arm to the pool deck and tugged her along with him, slowly backing her against the wall. "I have good news for you then – I've recently made a career move. Shirtless is back in session."

"That _is_ good news…"

Her eyes roved over him appreciatively. He arched toward her, tracing her face with his fingertips before kissing her thoroughly. She bobbed against him with the slippery swell of cool water, curling herself around his strong frame and deepening the kiss with profound serenity.

And as he trapped her against that wall and continued to deliver kiss after kiss, Toby couldn't help but believe that everything really was going to be alright this time. It wasn't as if he believed that the disappointments would go away or that their demons were permanently conquered. He wasn't naïve. Realistically, their hardships were far from over—life didn't stop for anyone, they both carried a lot of broken pieces that hadn't quite healed, and there would be new challenges in the days ahead. But now, with the chapter known as Rosewood reaching its long-awaited ending, he could say without reservation that they had what they needed to make it through anything. Whether in fire or in flood, they had each other, and that was their once upon a time.


End file.
